


All The Things He Said (aka The Miserable Broom)

by stylinourry



Series: magic pray love [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M, McGonagall - as meticulous as ever - happens to favour Louis, Romance, Snape's an annoying Professor whose daunt makes the students cry, Temporarily Unrequited Love, and O.W.Ls make a mess out of the boys, hogwarts is also a rich high-maintenance academy, in which Louis and Harry are parallel lines, magic and lust and everything wizardry contains, smut in later chapters, that become perpendicular for the first time, that praises significant students like a cult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinourry/pseuds/stylinourry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this universe the Snake falls prey to the Lion.</p><p>Harry and Louis lie on opposite ends of the spectrum.</p><p>People <i>want</i> them to be together.</p><p>And the Snake languidly wishes this was so. </p><p>The problem is the Lion won't allow it.</p><p>Or will he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I've been dying to spear my brain for a long while because HP?! Come _on_ \- it was my life. Smush my two fandom babies together and you get this: a near elusive new fic that reeks of tenaciousness because I've also been way too excited to place Larry in such a magical iconic universe that I can alter any time I want! And to be honest...the 1D boys in Hogwarts robes gives me too many ideas :')
> 
> This isn't beta-ed so I apologize for the grammar/spelling mistakes (IF ANY) in this chapter!

**Potions Class: 11:15 am**

"Tomlinson."

Louis looked up and acknowledged the bland, monotonous tone of his Professor. It wasn't like Snape wanted to hex the Headmistress' darling pupil (oh, l'ironie ) but his constipated expression told him otherwise. 

"Yes, sir?" His classmates sniggered, uncouth, and were rather as amused as Louis was, while Liam Payne pointedly froze in embarrassment beside him. Potions happened to be one sodding excuse of a Hogwarts course in his opinion, and seeing that he was very much free to choose any three pre-graduate electives for himself, Louis found this supposed "mandatory" class a waste of his time. He figured old bat McGonagall was lucid enough to let him drop Potions, but apparently he'd been wrong for the start of term.

"What are you plotting?" Snape's tone was condescending yet prone to volatileness, and his beady black eyes quite intimidated Louis Tomlinson to a certain extent that tested his poor patience. 

"Nothing sir." Louis blinked back at him innocently - and the trained actor within him managed to create a perfect pretense of hurt. All he did was cast a simple Hairfig charm behind his robe sleeve - and unbeknownst to Snape, the black locks framing his greasy complexion began to ripple, reminiscent of river snakes coated with slime. 

Yes. 'Tis the truth. Louis didn't plot anything...except for a surefire detention session he would have to attend (or ditch) once Snape discovered his head's breathing state.

~

Harry Styles was staring, and had involuntarily leaned backwards in his seat at the class' exhale of boredom that was once again cracked apart by the brown-haired Gryffindor's cheeky banter and his luminescent ocean blue eyes.

Although Harry's spot at the back of the room was a trivial disadvantage, he could mentally imagine the delighted expression on the older boy's face as he poked saccharine trouble into Snape's side, all bright grins and addictive, bubbly laughs.

He hated this Louis lad for embodying a magnet on legs. 

"Nothing sir." The tips of Harry's earlobes trembled, blood trickling throughout his skin at the mere sound of Louis' raspy, silken voice, but he tried to maintain his effortless composure, chiseled face settling into an indifferent mask. 

He _was_ Harry Styles after all.

Prince of the Slytherin House, Harry glided, unfazed by nothing, while he made his rather highly revered way down the halls of Hogwarts. Befitted with the title, his intoxicating stature complimented the reputation he had been given since Year One. No one could snag it away from him, and if they attempt to they are often unsuccessful.

Hooded moss-green eyes, porcelain skin, a tantalizing mass of curly hair and that smile one considers difficult to ignore - like a jeweller's prize and the subject of unisex dreams - were his infamous stamps. As the unambiguous trademarks people immortalized, the school council also lost control over an entire female following (with a minuscule male minority that nobody in Hogwarts' history has witnessed form). Sometimes the manic adoration escalated to a level in which McGonagall found her frail self on the dark edge of reclusion, and having been unable to thin the absolutely besotted masses Muffliato became her regular saving grace.

Zayn Malik nearly accomplished this feat for Slytherin's godly position, but Harry remained, unsurprisingly, a continuous precedent. Known as the Slytherin Prince's "apprentice" of various sorts, Zayn was Styles' best mate, confidante, and ad lib. Both were considered inexorable sex gods, their presence a vacuum seizing the girls' (and boys') sinful fantasies piece by perverse piece, but Zayn embodied something else entirely. 

He knew Harry like the back of his tan hand, and when trouble that seemed too great for Styles to handle broke through the doors the dark-haired crow swooped in to save the Prince's screwed arse. Every time.

But Harry wasn't complaining.

They were inseparable - always have been, and at this point it was an assumed given that something serious had melted over if either one were missing from the other's side. 

"Y'aren't listening to Snape, huh?" 

Impeccable timing.

Harry snorted, punching Malik in the side. Zayn affixed him with those sharp, cryptic brown eyes that one couldn't see through albeit trying hard enough. It was like peering into a dense sheet of iron ore...impossible to read unless he was willing to give himself away - and that is rare.

"I was," Harry muttered; he scowled at Zayn, a weak mask of guile failing to hide the coy embarrassment underneath.

And see? This was the problem. He was as open as a book that has been read numerous times to worn. It would probably be more tolerable if Zayn just yanked his scalp away to display his insane lobes and restore parts of them. Zayn was more than capable of poking loopholes into his plots. What else did he expect from an empathetic best friend? 

The answer was given to him automatically.

"It's the Louis bloke 'gain, isn't it?" Zayn's full lips twisted into a smirk and Harry wished he was able to Hex it off his insufferable, beautiful face.

_"No-"_

"You're absolute shit at lying, mate. Don't try."

" _Fine_ , it's Louis, happy now, Zee?" Harry grits his teeth and snarls out the corner of his flushed mouth, trying very hard to ignore the fiery sensations dancing on his neck from how obvious he was, dammit. "I was _going_ to-"

"Styles and Malik - you should be ashamed of yourselves - ten points from my own house for talking about Styles' inane attraction to a Gryffindor student in my class," Snape said, Harry and Zayn pallid beneath his beady gaze; his tone definitely shut them up - they might as well be hanging by their toes _vertically_ for two hours.

The whole exterior of Harry's face burned, morose. You'd presume the Slytherin Prince was morbidly unaffected - and used to - being embarrassed by the Menace Head of his own House.

Think again, folks.

God forbid that _Snape_ knew whom he was longingly pining after, hook, line and sinker...after someone who wouldn't bother sending him one interested glance.

Harry's chest cavity hurt with twangs of sad, macroscopic pain. He'd rather prefer to be _Avada Kedavra_ -ed out of this dimension forever.

And wait - that was a stupid thought.

"Tomlinson!" The contemptuous chuckles meant for the Slytherins grounded to an immediate halt when Snape whipped around, robes tumbling behind his back as horrid hostility replaced the pinch on his pale face; Harry, although snapping to instant attention at the mention of Louis ("Fucking _obsessed_ you are," Zayn snickers), cowered in the corner from the waves of anger that radiated off of him. "A Hairfig charm you _dared_ to impose on a teacher earns you Friday detentions each month! How _dare_ you mock my authority as a Professor at this school and if you ditch _any_ of your assigned sessions I will inform McGonagall of your in-class three-day suspension! Do you or do you not understand what I'm saying, _mouse_?" 

Louis made a noncommittal noise; Malik murmured a curse word to himself and Harry, lips curling in severe concern, watched the back of Tomlinson's head look away from Snape. Harry, stunned at the Professor's reviled nickname for him, felt cold mutual discomfiture on Louis' behalf and _oh how far he's fallen_.

But still! It had slipped Harry's mind that the Professor was more than capable of hurling disparaging words towards his students, especially those he loathed (why they always happened to be Gryffindors he dismissed as a coincidence) and anger began to grow inside him, wanting to rip Snape's robes and violently berate him for resenting Louis Tomlinson and his crude humour _which Snape will never damn understand and yes Harry doesn't care whether or not Louis appreciates him-_

A sharp elbow to Harry's ribs snapped him out of his indignant trance. Zayn was looking at him, and he lent the definite impression that he had caught on to Styles' feelings. They were more complex than Zayn had thought.

"You _hate_ how Snape called him mouse. You want to defend Louis," Zayn whispered, incisive eyes gleaming. It made Harry really uneasy, and the Slytherin within him sprung to defense without his consent. 

"I don't want to do _anything_ , and if you're done interrogating me about my private life you can fuck off," he shot back under his breath, but his actions betrayed what he just said, like usual. And besides, that was a lie...Zayn always took the liberty to know his private life. Harry's searching gaze automatically slipped back to the front of the room. He must have been too absorbed in his intense conflicted thoughts to notice that Snape had resumed his lecture.

And Louis' seat was empty.

~

Harry stalked out of Potions, Zayn on his right. He struggled to keep up, seeing that Harry was in fast pursuit of the short Gryffindor, and if right now was the opportune time for Zayn to shoot sharp bemused remarks at Harry's deep unconditional love for the boy he would have done so, except the curly's expression was obstinate.

Harry's long fingers drummed the coarse binding of his _Advanced Potion Making_ copy, restless, as they made their way down the corridors. "Are you sure you want to talk to him?" Zayn's ink brows furrowed together, questionably wondering if Harry had lost his _marbles_. Styles had never uttered a single word to Louis Tomlinson since first year; he was merely content resigning himself to gross admiration from afar. "Louis might think you're off your rocker," Zayn mumbles, and in haste he adds,"I've watched him - you know - around, and Louis seems like the type of bloke who'll refuse to fall for Slytherin charm, _especially_ yours." Zayn doesn't quite care if Harry's actively shutting him out; six years of standing inside a 50 to 0 centimetre radius to Styles had weathered Zayn's self-reservations and Harry's stubbornness deserved to be squashed. Just because Malik was Styles' ad lib did not mean he'll let Harry do something stupid and ruin his esteemed (if you could call it that) reputation.

And don't get Zayn wrong. He wasn't warning Harry for his own benefit and Harry knew this as well as Zayn did. Malik held his best interests at heart, and Harry, being the innately sensitive boy he is if you earned a place within his ineptly guarded soul, would be destroyed from the _shame_ and the fear and the uncertainty of what lay ahead of him. Harry's young mind, excluding the otherwise occasional Slytherin snark and cunning he's shown, was a bundle of innocence, kindness and a unique gentleness that any other Slytherin didn't dare question or infringe upon. If one looked beyond the convoluted layers of his personality, or better yet centrifugated his public sexual image and his inner bearings, they'd see them.

Why was Harry placed in Slytherin then? He should have been the typical shoddy, excessively friendly Hufflepuff, or worse, an obnoxious, courageous (both of which Harry was not - hold up, probably a little), selfless (which Harry entirely was) Gryffindor. No one knows the measure of the truth behind it, but Zayn did. The Styles family ancestry revealed that they had once been close acquaintances with the Burks-Sackargs, an ancient, critically renowned clan and the masterminds behind the Sorting Hat. Zayn didn't believe such an incredulous confession, obviously, but Harry pressed that the Hat would still sort you in the House you wanted regardless. He disclosed that he didn't want to be in Gryffindor ( _"Not Gryffindor, eh? Why miss out on the greatest opportunity of your life? You can shine here! You can forge the strongest friendships! The Gryffindor in you shouts truthfulness and concern and justice for the oppressed! But if you consider Slytherin your home - the House of Darkness, mind you - then so be it-_ ")

-and the Sorting Hat approved his decision on a silver platter.

"It was bloody confusing," Harry had said, dimples pursed. "Like, the lot of Slytherin isn't at all bad! Like you! I don't understand what gave us an awful name 'cause that Dark-Magic-Voodoo-Death-Eater shit gets so tiring!" Zayn'd laughed, further explaining that Slytherin's cursed rep was probably due to the numerous past witches and wizards who became twisted, corrupted, _evil_ in every sense of the daunting word...and then Harry preached heroics about breaking the stereotype and the centuries-full of stigmas that surrounded Slytherin. He promised he would be the first ambassador to split the stereotype down the middle.

Harry will most likely squander his chances by attempting to woo Gryffindor's Louis sodding Tomlinson _now_ (why oh _why_ did the unthinkable befall Styles? Why did he have to be, rather irrevocably, in love with him? First year put to motion a future set of non-amiable circumstances and unluckiness for Harry: let's pine, for _six sodding years_ , after Louis Tomlinson even when he's out of my league and is a brash, inconsiderate, obnoxious (there we go) potty-mouthed idiot whom I don't deserve!)

Zayn's bosom ached with that familiar sympathy for his best mate again. He just wanted to protect Harry Styles' intrinsically precious heart. There was nothing else to it.

"My Slytherin charm's untouched, thanks," Harry muttered, sarcasm coating his tongue. Zayn, after sliding around a dodgy group of giggling, enthralled fifth years that Harry couldn't help but wink to for their sake ( _"OH HARREH!!"_ ) and telling them to fuck off (with a scolding from Harry not to be rude to the harmless girls), remembered one crucial factor.

"The entire school knows you're bent-"

"Bi!"

"-whatever, but what I'm tryna say is the girls know you're bi and that you prefer blokes more! They're still convinced they can bed you before November ends but how do we know if Louis feels the same about you? You haven't exactly told anyone you're legit _homosexual_ except for me-"

Harry dragged Zayn by the forearm into the Great Hall, grip pressing bruises into his skin, and he ignored every single burning, wanting stare that usually contained certain implications of awe, interest, lust. An audible buzz of gossip flittered around the room at their arrival, and the Slytherin Gods plopped unenthusiastically onto their seats. "Then I _won't_ talk to him, wanker. Now shut up or else I'll Bogey Hex you." Zayn did as he was told. Harry, now more eager than irritated, pushed away the negative possibilities and sought out Louis by pure habit; his bold emerald eyes shot towards the Gryffindor table in the great hopes of catching Tomlinson laughing, majestically, at a ridiculous joke Payne offered...there he was! 

Styles' nerves tangled in that familiar sense of captivation once again, breath hitching. Louis' tiny right hand snatched an apple pie off of the platter before him, and he appeared as if the Potions incident never took place. Irish boy Horan shook his shoulder jovially. The Hufflepuff was smiling so wide Harry thought that his snow pale face might crack. Louis' laugh sounded like a serene mix of wind-chimes and trumpets; glowing skin crinkled. His cheeks contracted. His expression lit up with absolute energy and ardour that oozed transience and Harry's stomach performed dizzying flips.

" _Ugh_. You've been doing that for ages but I still can't stop gagging," Zayn quipped, shoving the sleeves of his robes to his elbows and grabbing a piece of oily italian parmesan pizza. He pretends not to feel Harry's decent pinch to his wrist yet the twitch of it blossoms into pain, and Zayn can't help massaging the area, which soon turns into a distinct yellow and purple patch. Malik hisses and his hazel eyes narrow dangerously at Harry, who in turn munches on a bread roll, fingertips picking at the stray flakes of carbohydrates that were sticking to his tie. A second year Slytherin, who had seen their strange exchange, stands open-mouthed and amazed in front of the two deities. Zayn lets out a low snarl that scares the little boy (not to mention the total opposite effect is unleashed over five third year females adjacent to them) and he scurries off, visibly frightened. _Hopefully the midget didn't witness Harry ogling _too_ much over Tomlinson-_

"That was mean, Zee!" Harry finally says, pink puffy lips forming an 'O'. He was disappointed, yes (his firm tone and knit eyebrows approved of that), because Styles had criticized him endless times about 'treating people respectably', but he cannot allow them to wander off and start blabbing animatedly about the juiciest rumour concerning Slytherin's Prince to exist this school year - which so happens to _not_ be a rumour - then expect dirty credit for it. "You're a hopeless shit, you know that? He almost saw you staring all obsessed American Psycho at Louis and if you're not fucking careful next time you'll be in huge trouble!" Zayn tells him through a clenched jaw, frustration taken out on the violence he chewed his pizza with, and his molars ground wholly over the crisp dough.

Harry's countenance instantly grew apologetic; a wry smile adorned his face. He glanced around first, wary of open ears before he whispered back. "I know. I can't help myself okay?! What the hell am I supposed to do, cage it in? Have you heard of the saying _'too much love isn't enough?'_ Well I feel like someone's draining me of it every. Single. Day."

"You're also a dramatic hopeless shit," Zayn sighs, knocking his elbow with Harry's in an enthused manner.

Styles, in the midst of gobbling down the remainder of his bread roll, glares. A scornful retort was dancing on the tip of his tongue, but Harry's gaze hardens and a rigorous smirk appears; Zayn suddenly thinks he's gone mad for good.

"Oh, _I'm_ the dramatic shit? Who's been wishing his arse off that Liam Gorgeous Payne spared him a moment?"

Fire encased Zayn's veins at the astute change of topic and he soon felt as if he stepped on _Reducio_ -ed miniature salamanders. Malik's tried to keep himself silent when it came to the sacrosanct, veiled secrets of his own heart - no matter how utterly cheesy that sounded - but a common case included Harry's typical interference and persistent prying. Styles knew Zayn's cognitive brain functions, darkest fears, lightest concerns...hidden love.

Zayn's taunts bite him back squarely in the arse as he also finds himself staring at Liam Payne. His gaze wandered upon the sinew of the brown-eyed boy's arms, proportioned shoulders, a broad back as magnificent as the yellow canyons, and the _distinct_ faint scruffed jawline which all merged to frame the most pleasingly familiar face, with plump lips and a wonderful nose, that Zayn has ever seen in his mundane life for six vexatious years.

Stifling heat stretched Malik's chest taut. He was stunning. Always was.

"God, I can't-," Zayn makes a strangled choking sound, like a Peeping Tom who's just been caught in the girl's bathrooms and cried because the love his life refused his candy gram and Harry's face screws up; he shakes his head sympathetically while one hand pats Malik's bony shoulder, says,"Man, isn't life difficult for 'ya. Forget I said anything," and receives a hard shove from him. "Forget I even met your sad excuse of bollockbags, twit. _Anyway-_ " Zayn raises the volume of his voice, but the timbre in it remains sombrely desperate, "-the Quidditch match against Gryffindor's today! Reckoned you might be interested - I mean, Seeker is _moi_ , and we're rooting for their downfall this time." Zayn pumps a robust fist across Harry's eyesight and misses his nose by a hair, much to Styles' chagrin. Zayn doesn't notice.

You see, Zayn and Harry were submerged in very similar circumstances. Malik would never admit to it. The only blatant difference was that Zayn had more than a fifty percent chance of sweeping Gryffindor's topnotch Seeker off his feet than Harry had with Tomlinson and it deeply perturbed him. It's not as if Styles was going to associate himself with Quidditch this year, more or less even try to handle a Quaffle. He was dreadful on the field and Zayn saw to the credibility of that.

Harry struggled to accept that he needed Zayn's help, and Louis, besides Seeker Payne, happened to be Gryffindor's acclaimed Chaser. 

Harry initially thought he could do this by himself; he expected his famed appellation to assist him by a large mile. And yes, why now? Why did he decide to strike now when he had _six_ incorruptible years available to him? Honestly, Harry didn't have any ounce of an idea why.

In retrospect, the Slytherin gods were wallowing in sheer self pity.

~

Once he gave up his tedious efforts to complete a stupid three-foot Transfiguration essay on the covalent properties of minkin glass, Harry snatched his verdant scarf, tossed on his robes and made his way to the Quidditch pitch, the subdued buzz of thunderous jubilation increasing as he approached.

Not a moment later did he knock clumsily into a brightly clad stiff back of scarlet and gold while jogging his way up to the wide expanse of the Slytherin stands, wheezing a short breath out of him; although he never got the opportunity to lend a hushed apology the back turned around and regarded Harry, however, with sky-blue eyes full of clarity.

Styles blanched.

"Horan?"

Niall grinned, his flawlessly contoured set of white teeth blinding Harry's vision, and he felt both of the Irishman's hands clap him affably upon Harry's broad shoulders.

He feigned nonchalance despite a noticeable growth in blood cells within his face, watching Niall coolly when he spoke, as if the world was timeless, ample, free.

_I guess Horan really is the sunray that students say he is,_ Harry thinks, resisting the urge to side-eye the boy. _No exaggeration there._

Niall shined too bright, like the sun, in both a literal and figurative sense (there was a reason his hair indicated a vivid platinum shade of blonde, after all) that Harry oftentimes expected his eyesight to disappear each time he so much as glanced at him. He never registered his presence or mumbled holly polly to Niall and merely saw him flitting, here and there - a restless bumblebee - between the four different Houses.

Harry especially saw Niall hanging around Louis, guffawing at every word that trickled out of the beautiful older boy's mouth, and he quickly wished he was the one bumping arms with him, throwing a banter of wits back and forth, being the _reason_ behind his smile-

"Styles! Aren't ya a sight for my eyes! I heard a great deal 'bout you - the Slytherin Prince who gets a shag in when he can," Niall elbows him conspiratorially; Harry gapes, "-and the adulated bloke whose charms the girls can't _ever_ resist, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry purses his pink frostbitten lips and maintains his superior composure, trying not to shy away from Niall's death grip. He can hear the deep, gravelly tone of his own voice and he can feel his face settle into a mildly rapt mask alright, but _shit_ , when did he start conforming to the stereotyped Slytherinic attitudes? Harry could almost hear Zayn, who'd probably shake his head at him (and slap his cheek first), launch into a pivotal slew of fancies about Harry's promise to break the House stigma.

He has to distance himself from Malik.

"Here to watch the game? I won't keep ya then - match'is startin' in seven!"

Releasing Harry with a celebratory shout Niall bounded off, just like that, and with a clear merry jest in his steps he vanished behind the Hufflepuff tapestries.

Styles blinked, a hard string tugging from his gut that loudly enquired if Tomlinson ever talked about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter showed character development and background info before I delved into the real story! These two aspects are quite important for my plot. So sorry if there wasn't a first encounter between Harry and Louis yet - it'll come sooner than you think (;


	2. Incoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the support! :')

Tomlinson could inhale the salty ocean mist that was carried upon the harsh wind, and even though it was a cloudless day, as beams of sunlight flooded the stadium in uniform lines and shed spectators below him in an otherwordly, brilliant glow, the stinging, penetrating cold was unforgivable.

"Fuck," he gusted, smoothing pieces of flyaway auburn hair across his forehead. His open-gloved fingers shivered, curling against the icy bite of winter.

Louis lost his _Stiff Strand Stem Gel_ two days ago, to his displeasure. Some entitled ginger boy assumed he wouldn't realise his treasured hair product - otherwise the envy of sorts - was missing.

Incidentally Payne smelled the unmistakeable odor of aloe vera on Ravenclaw's Edward Harvey (a handsome bloke, pity), who happened to be seated in front of them during History Of Magic.

And boy, Tomlinson could _not_ stand another second observing him cheat his pretentious way to plagiarism of his hair.

Therefore, out of miserable bitterness, Louis chose ( _extremely recklessly_ in the words of McGonagall - yet again recklessness has always been deeply rooted within Tomlinson's nature) to be a prick and made Snape's head a living snake habitat of disastrous proportions.

He had underestimated Severus. And Severus was right. Louis was an imbeciling twat-ass for disrespecting his own Professor. He deserved every single biting, vile remark Snape had spit to his terrified face, and although he spared his own life slipping out of the classroom after the malicious episode right before his tears gave way, Louis couldn't deny the shimmering string of reprieve he felt when he successfully disappeared the sole instant _Harry Styles'_ seaweed eyes landed on his deserted seat. _Oh my_ shit. 

Tomlinson was hardly a man of tenacity. It was getting things done on impulse that put him in a dire position straight away, all the time.

Thing is: that narcissistic ( _seemingly_ \- well, of course he would assume such), untouchable, impetuous curly boy put Louis in a...predicament. And very unlike heaven's popular belief, he thought the boy was a dumb sod who expected people to kiss his hands, feet and his ridiculous...no - super riveting as _hell_ , to be absolutely unashamedly blunt - balls.

Louis, however, would just be lying to himself if he said he hadn't considered that thought of his the shallowest, most ignorant assumption a typical Gryffindor could make when it came to a universally worshipped Slytherin. He didn't even know Harry beyond the thick toxic shell of high relevance that Styles'd created for his own insatiable gain!

_Nope - he was saying too much._

He wouldn't dare get to the point of his disarrayed brain.

Louis' point being: he was, for the first time _ever_ in quite a long time, unsure on how he truly felt for Harry Styles. The two opposing sides (public and personal) screamed at each other inside his head, nipping and biting amongst yells of _'you don't know him', 'the world knows him', 'look beyond the surface', 'the school's image of him is enough', 'you're a shallow, bitter shit'_!

Which side was Louis supposed to listen to? And could he, frankly, associate his whole self with the very boy he had solemnly, brutally resisted approaching because of certain past circumstances and certain present ones?

If there was one thing Louis was undoubtedly certain of right now, he concluded, in horror, that he still had the faintest of feelings for Harry Styles.

And they have grown stronger: strong enough for him to notice that it was disrupting his mind more than in previous years. Everything he had thought of, done, will do - Harry was there, pulling Louis' soul down into an inescapable paradise. 

Tomlinson was losing it in this cold. It _must_ be the cruel ice.

"Tommo!"

A gloved hand, sure and confident and meticulous as always, held his shoulder, and Louis turns to intent bronze eyes that look at him worriedly.

"You alright, mate? Your face is a little paper white," Liam murmurs, his warm, clear voice both calm and nervous, pre-game jitters stretching itself taut underneath his tone; Louis knows that Payne is fixed on his teammate's wellbeing. While other grandiose team captains just pretend to care for the team's own gain, false pretenses in play, Liam did not. To him, their wellbeing mattered over everything else. After all, he had immortalized his own schoolwide quote: _"Without care, there is no captain. Without teamwork, there is no team,"_ and Louis constantly wonders how he was considered worthy of Liam Payne's immaculate friendship.

"I'm fine," Louis mutters, exhaling sharply, and he quite knows that pre-game jitters were taking up the best of him. "Just anxious, and the cold is bull," he adds, nodding absentmindedly, his lips curled into a feigned pout, but Liam knew Louis Tomlinson for six - nearly seven - rotten years. Louis often betrayed his inner intuition.

And of course Payne didn't buy it.

"Lou, whatever it is, don't-"

"-bring it into the game and I'll talk to you about it post match, I know, poppy," Louis remarks, wry blue eyes bidding a promise to his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I again hope this chapter was satisfying. There's going to be a lot of imminent twists and turns from this point on I believe so keep your eyes peeled!
> 
> p.s oh my god I'm so depressed - I forgot to save a copy of my side Ziam fic for this series from my drafts and AO3 deleted it D': (not to mention I was actually proud of it ahh)
> 
>  **EDIT** (January 27 2015): OOPS I published this draft chapter by accident!! I guess I can't do anything else but add in the rest later on, so don't be disheartened if it comes to an abrupt end - this chapter isn't even finished yet!


End file.
